


Anchor

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You" [11]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Collars, Dom Chris Argent, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Angst, Light BDSM, M/M, Praise Kink, Sub Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-23 01:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30047784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Sometimes, when Peter feels restless and out of control, memories haunting him and nightmares lurking in the night, he needs something only Chris can give him: An anchor.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Series: One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You" [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698595
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	Anchor

**Author's Note:**

> These short stories are written for prompts on this list: [One Hundred Ways To Say "I Love You"](https://phantasticlizzy.tumblr.com/post/169119615088/one-hundred-ways-to-say-i-love-you)
> 
> Number 56: "It brings out your eyes"

It is one of those nights. 

One of those nights Peter can’t stop thinking. He paces, his body tense, his mind restless. The wolf scratches at his mental walls, growling and whining. 

Peter feels like he is about to lose control. He hates it.

He curls up on the bed, burying his face in Chris’ pillow, chasing after his scent. 

It is there, but too faint. It is not enough to soothe the itch. To pull him back from the edge of falling into the abyss of his memories. 

Peter feels his claws prickling under his skin. He pushes the wolf back yet again, gritting his teeth. He can’t believe he is still slipping into this pathetic state only because of a fire truck rushing past, sirens blaring. Only because of the rush of memories that followed. The echo of smoke, phantom pain on his skin, where he was burned. 

He whines and clenches his hands into fists. He needs Chris. Needs an anchor. Needs direction. Needs to feel secure. He needs … 

The noise of the door opening downstairs makes him wince, then sigh in relief. Chris is back. Peter stays where he is, just waiting.  
  
When Chris steps into the room, it only takes him a moment to understand. He takes his jacket off unhurriedly, approaches the bed, runs gentle fingers through Peter’s hair and says, “Take off your clothes and kneel for me, pup.” 

Peter obeys wordlessly. He feels nothing but relief at being told what to do. At being able to follow Chris’ voice, letting it lead him out of the mess in his mind. He takes his clothes off and folds them, putting them on the night table.

The carpet in front of their bed is fuzzy. Peter kneels on it and puts his hands on his thighs, watching as Chris opens the drawer, running his fingers over the toys in there with a thoughtful expression on his face. There are many toys. But tonight, Chris only chooses a blindfold and the collar.  
  
Both are midnight blue. 

Peter shivers when Chris locks the collar into place, when the soft leather touches his skin. He focuses on the sensation, pushing away everything else. The wolf settles down. 

“Beautiful,” Chris says, slipping a finger between Peter’s neck and the thin leather for a moment. “It brings out your eyes.” 

Chris covers Peter’s eyes with the blindfold next. It is impossible to see through. They made sure of that. 

Peter’s breath hitches when his world goes dark. But he doesn’t tense up. It is okay. He doesn’t need to worry. 

For a moment, nothing happens. There is only Chris’ breath, calm and steady. The sound of their heartbeats. And the faint noise of the rain outside. Then, a single finger strokes along Peter’s cheek, down his neck. He shivers. 

Chris runs the finger back up, painting Peter’s lips with it and slipping it inside his mouth. Peter wraps his tongue around it, the skin rough and tasting like _Chris_. All too soon, Chris takes the finger away. 

Peter can hear Chris unzipping his pants. It takes too long. He forces himself to stay calm and not get impatient. Chris is going to take care of it. He always does. 

“Open up,” Chris says. 

Peter does. He moans when the tip of Chris’ cock slips into his mouth and laps at it with his tongue, chasing the salty taste of precum. Chris moans and pushes his cock in a bit further. Peter closes his lips around it and hums. 

Chris’ fingers run through his hair, scratching at his scalp and pulling a bit, pulling him forward. Peter lets it happen, relaxing his jaw and throat. 

“Good boy,” Chris says slightly breathless and Peter moans around the cock in his mouth. His world focuses on the task of making Chris feel good. Every moan above him is music in his ears and makes his own ignored cock twitch. 

After what could have been ages or only minutes, Chris pulls out, takes his cock away and Peter whines, chasing after it blindly. Chris chuckles and puts his hand on the nape of Peter’s neck, squeezing there. “Up, pup. Get on the bed for me.” 

Peter scrambles to his feet, swaying on the spot, disoriented, only led by Chris’ hand on his neck, gentle pressure guiding him, until he can make out the bed and get on it. He lets Chris arrange his body, following the gentle yet firm instructions of “On your hands and knees. Spread your legs a little bit more. Yeah. Like that. Good boy.” 

“Perfect,” Chris says when he’s satisfied. He gets on the bed as well, the springs creaking under the added weight. A drawer opens and closes. Lube, Peter thinks vaguely and hears the telltale click of the bottle being opened.

Chris' fingers are back, dancing down Peter’s spine. The touch too light and too intense at the same time. Peter arches his back and whines. He needs more.  
  
He gasps when a finger, slick with lube, circles his hole and pushes in after a moment. Chris opens him up relentlessly, never moving faster, nor slower. It is sweet torture. 

Peter doesn’t push. He forces himself to stay still, feeling drops of sweat running down his face. His arms tremble slightly under his weight. But he stays still. Chris is going to know when he is ready. 

Sure enough, Chris withdraws his fingers and Peter can hear the noise of more lube being squeezed. The anticipation makes his spine tingle and his cock hardening further. Chris’ puts a hand on Peter’s hip, fingers stroking there soothingly. He shifts into place behind Peter, lining up his cock and pushing in without hesitance. Slowly, steadily. 

Peter moans and bites at his lip, his teeth sharpening at the edges and his claws piercing the sheets. 

Chris stays still for a moment, fingers tapping a random rhythm on Peter’s hip. His skin is radiating warmth. He bends over Peter’s body and presses kisses on the line of his spine, working his way up until he reaches Peter's neck. Then, he removes the blindfold.

Peter blinks into the sudden brightness. When his eyes get used to it, he sees that Chris positioned him in the middle of the bed, making him facing the mirror of their wardrobe. 

He looks at himself in the mirror. Looks at his flushed face, his messed up hair and hazy eyes. He looks at Chris, towering over him, his face carrying an expression of lust and care. “Look at you. You’re perfect,” he says roughly, his fingers gripping Peter’s hips possessively. “I want you to watch yourself.”

Peter moans. He shakes when Chris starts to move. Slow but strong thrusts, a steady rhythm, rubbing against all the right places. Peter hisses when Chris reaches for his cock, giving it a few firm strokes. “You are so hard for me,” Chris breathes, his eyes intense as he looks at Peter over the mirror. “You are close, aren’t you.”  
  
He squeezes and takes his hand away again. Peter whines, but he doesn’t reach for his aching cock. He wasn’t told to. 

Chris pushes into him faster, his grip tightening. “No,” he says, when Peter’s head drops once, fingers wandering under his jaw to tip it back up. “Look into the mirror. I want you to see. You can do it, pup.” 

He can. He can, for Chris, Peter thinks hazily. He looks at them in the mirror, struggling to keep himself upright on trembling arms. 

“Touch yourself for me. I wanna feel you come,” Chris says. 

Relieved, Peter reaches for his cock. He is so hard, almost oversensitive. 

“Look at you,” Chris says, a fire burning in his eyes. “You are so fucking gorgeous. I could show you off like this, you know? Maybe in a club. They would all stare and wish they’d be able to touch. But I wouldn’t let them. Because you are mine. Aren’t you, pup? _Mine._ ” He punctuates the word with a sharp tug on Peter’s collar and Peter moans his agreement. 

Chris chuckles and leans forward, telling Peter, “Come for me, pup,” and sinking his teeth into Peter’s neck, right above the collar. The sharp sensation is what tips Peter over the edge and he comes with a silent scream, his back arching. 

“Fuck. Peter,” Chris groans, sounding wrecked. His hips stutter as he comes as well.

For a long moment, they are just breathing heavily, still connected and marked, wearing each other’s scent. When Chris pulls out he runs gentle fingers through Peter’s hair and says, “Relax, pup. You’ve been so good for me. So fucking perfect.” 

Peter just moans and allows himself to slump, to sink into the pillows. His mind is blank. The wolf is purring, sated and clear. He closes his eyes and drifts off while Chris is moving, cleaning up and putting the lube away. 

He comes back from a half-slumber when Chris says his name and tells him to sit up. Peter does and Chris holds a glass of water to his lips. Peter drinks gratefully, the cool liquid feeling like balm for his throat. After he empties the glass, Chris puts it away and feeds Peter a piece of dark chocolate. It melts on his tongue and Peter moans, closing his eyes in bliss. 

Chris chuckles. He gets on the bed as well, opening his arms for Peter. Peter sinks into the embrace with a sigh. He still didn’t say a word. And he doesn’t have to. Not here.

Chris pulls him close, pulling the blanket over both of them. Peter focuses on the even beating of Chris’ heart and moves into the touch when Chris cups his cheek. Chris smiles and plays with the collar still around Peter’s neck, his fingers slipping under the leather and rubbing against Peter’s skin, soothing over where the bite mark would be, if it hadn’t already faded. 

Peter falls asleep like this, surrounded by Chris' scent and warmth. He doesn’t dream.


End file.
